Long Way Home
by jadefervidus
Summary: It's a month after Night of Champions, and John and Annabella aren't coping without Phil. Combined with a promotion, an injury and the arrival of a new stable, the couple aren't sure how to keep themselves together while trying to bring their lover back. CM Punk/OFC/John Cena. Sequel to 'Love and War'.


**Title:** Long Way Home.  
><strong>Pairing:<strong> CM Punk/OFC/John Cena.  
><strong>Words:<strong> 3,385.

**Disclaimer:** Only Annabella is mine. All mentioned wrestlers belong to WWE.

**Author's note:** This is the sequel to my previous story, 'Love and War'. While this can stand alone, it might make a little more sense if you read that first. It's not very long (only four chapters) but it's up to you. Title comes from the eponymous song by 5 Seconds of Summer.

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter 1 - Hell in a Cell (2012)<strong>

Backstage is surprisingly subdued for a pay-per-view.

Annabella tries to narrow down the exact reason why but finds too many possibilities to draw a definitive conclusion. It's possibly because of Lillian Garcia's accident earlier in the day. She's fine, of course, but the company is a family: if anyone is every seriously injured, it affects everyone. Annabella makes a mental note to call Lillian after the show and let her know how it went, but decides that the accident is unlikely to be the cause of the hushed atmosphere.

It's also possibly because Randy Orton has been in a terrible mood all day after announcing that he and his wife were divorcing. Annabella is close to both of them and was absolutely stupefied at the news: she hadn't expected it, although she was aware of how much friction existed in their relationship due to Sam's jealousy and Randy's flirtatious nature. She decides, given that Randy had disappeared into the locker room either, that that was not the reason for the atmosphere either.

Another option is because Brad Maddox has been announced as the referee for the main event. It's customary for an experienced referee to handle the bigger matches. Charles Robinson, a man Annabella had a tremendous amount of respect for, was originally announced as the referee but after Paul Levesque gave John Laurinaitis control of the show, the change was made. Normally, Annabella had faith in Paul's business choices; this one she wasn't so sure about. She decided that this is a likely cause of the tense atmosphere.

A fourth possible option is that everyone - superstars, divas, personal assistants, technicians, camera crew, producers, catering - knows that tonight is the first time since their breakup that Annabella and her ex-lovers, John and Phil, could potentially be in the same room at the same time. Well, technically, Annabella and John hadn't officially ended things but given that they hadn't spoken in a month, it was all but inevitable. She tries not to consider this option too much. Sure, she knows it probably won't be a simple or easy or fun interaction, but it's not like they're going to smack each other.

At least she hopes not.

Annabella sighs, readjusting her position in her chair while vaguely listening to Michael Cole's excited commentary. She folds her arms over her chest and crosses her legs, trying to convince herself that she's not worried about the upcoming main event match.

"He'll be fine, lass. Don' worry 'bout it," Stephen pats her shoulder gently when he joins her a few moments later. The Irishman sinks into the chair beside her, groaning as his sore body contorts.

Annabella smiles at him, offering a sympathetic wince. "Thanks for trying to make me feel better, Ste, but Ryan's going to wipe the floor with him. And shouldn't you be with the trainers, or the doctors? You look awful."

Stephen winces slightly and curls an arm around the woman's shoulders. "Yeah, probably. I'm fine, darlin' - don' worry 'bout me, jus' a little banged up. I wanted ta be here wit' ya anyway. I know yer probably worryin' enough ta make yerself go grey."

Annabella nods, too distracted by nerves to convince him to head back to the doctors' office, or to deny his last statement. _He's a grown man, if he's that injured, he'll go back by himself_, she thinks to herself.

Secretly, she's glad for the company. Stephen is warm and smells nice and is surprisingly comfortable for a six-foot-five wall of muscle. They sit like that for a few minutes, not paying any attention to the looks some people give them. They're used to the rumours by now, although both of them know that while it could happen one day, Annabella is nowhere close to recovering from her relationship with John and Phil, and Stephen isn't looking for anything steady.

A voice breaks the peaceful silence that had fallen between them a little while later. "Anna?"

She looks up, seeing one of the men she was worried about seeing tonight. Luckily, he doesn't seem to be anything other curious. "John."

"On second thought, I think I'm gonna head back ta the docs. Shoulder's feelin' a little tight," Stephen grunts, gingerly rising to his feet. "I'll be back as soon as I can."

"Don't hurt yourself, my delicate little ginger prince." Annabella smirks when Stephen flips her off before walking away. Silently steeling her nerves, she turns back the figure that had been watching the exchange. "What can I do for you, Cena?" Her tone is a little more hostile than she was expecting, but she supposes it's a natural reaction to confrontation.

To his credit, John doesn't seem bothered. He sinks into the chair on the other side of the one Stephen had been sitting in. "Thought I'd find you here," he says as he makes himself comfortable.

Annabella watches him right himself before responding tightly. "You could've just called."

John looks sideways at her. "Would you have answered?"

"Point taken," the brunette sighs, turning her attention back to the monitor. "What do you want?"

"I just want to make sure you're okay." The rustling of fabric and a quick glance shows Annabella that John is removing his jacket. It's heavy leather, probably too heavy for the weather outside but that's not unusual for him. Absently, she recognises it as the one she'd stolen from him one night when they were on the roof of the Bellagio in Las Vegas. She ignores the pang in her chest from the memory, shaking her head. "I wasn't sure since, y'know, we haven't spoken in a month."

The dig doesn't go unnoticed and she raises an eyebrow. _Two can play that game._ "I figured you'd appreciate my absence since you've apparently been _very_ preoccupied with Nicole."

The older man huffs a laugh, shaking his head as if he expected that response. "Don't bring her into this, Anna. I have been spending time with her, yes. I like her, yes, but we aren't over."

"So, what? You're asking for my permission before you try and slip it to her?" The brunette takes satisfaction in the angry crack breaking through John's façade. She believes it's time to unleash the unrelenting torrent of anger that had been swirling in her mind over the past weeks. To be fair, Nicole hadn't ever been on Annabella's bad side but at that moment, she didn't care. "Of course not - John Cena's too noble for that. By all means feel free, boy scout. Don't stop yourself from getting some over a little formality like that."

"Annabella, _don't_. You know I didn't mean it like that," John warns, giving her a stern look.

"Actually, I don't know shit since you apparently took Phil leaving as permission to do so yourself. You know, John, if you wanted to walk away, you could've just left instead of pushing Phil to do it first!" A part of her knows that was a low blow yet she can't find the will to care.

"So that's what this is about." John sighs, running a hand through his short hair. "Do you feel better now?"

Her attention returns to the monitor. "Not in the slightest."

"Well, are we going to talk about it?"

Annabella shakes her head. "Not tonight."

Silence falls between them, John seemingly hesitant to push his girlfriend any further away and Annabella not wanting to lose focus on Phil's match. It lasts a while, until Ryback takes control match and the two of them can no longer force themselves to watch their ex-lover being beaten to a pulp.

"Are you alright?" John is the first to speak.

Heaving a sigh, the brunette runs a hand through her loose hair. During the silence, her anger had waned back into the indecisiveness and confusion she'd been feeling since the previous pay-per-view. "You're the one that's injured, John. I should be asking you if you're okay." Her eyes tentatively flick between the monitor and John.

He smiles. "I'm fine, baby."

Annabella clears her throat awkwardly at the absent use of a pet name, deciding that the blush spreading across John's cheeks is enough punishment. "I'm surprised Vince let you have the night off," she says instead.

"He was pretty close to an aneurism, I'm not going to lie," he chuckles as he scratches the back of his neck, the pink flush beginning to fade. "Paul managed to talk him down. Told him that one night off would be nothing if I managed to reinjure myself."

"God forbid Vince would end up having to utilise someone else's potential," the younger scoffs, noticing John's raised eyebrow from the corner of her eye. "No offence."

"None taken." John turns back to the monitor. "Do you think he's going to survive?" he asks after a moment.

"I don't know," she sighs, "Probably. I just hope he doesn't get completely decimated. You know what his ribs are like, and Stephen's mentioned that he's been having trouble with his shoulder."

"You've had Stephen keep an eye on him?"

"Yes. Well, not really," the brunette clarifies, "Stephen talks to Randy about it and I just... happen to listen. You going to tell me that you don't care about his wellbeing?"

John focuses on something across the room. "It's not my place to care anymore," he says quietly.

"You really bought the bullshit he was trying to sell at Night of Champions?" Annabella demands incredulously.

"No, Anna, I didn't. I didn't buy it then and I still don't buy it now, but there's nothing I - we - can do about it, okay?" John says, frustrated. He angrily scrubs a hand over his face. "If he doesn't want to fix it, it can't be fixed. So I will continue feigning ignorance and pretend that everything's fine when I know just as well as you that everything's falling apart."

Annabella sighs, running a hand through her hair. "His stuff is gone," she says.

John's attention shifts to her from the wall. "What?"

"From the apartment in Connecticut," she smiles sadly, gaze dropping to the floor. She focuses on a pattern in the cracks, trying to keep her composure. This is much harder than she was expecting. "When I went home after that night, everything was gone. Closet and bathroom were empty, that pile of comics on the couch that used to drive me nuts was gone. That whole box of the appliance bits was always pestering him to get rid of was gone too."

A long exhale is the only response she receives for a few minutes. "Same with me."

"Huh?"

"Tampa," John clears his throat. "Everything was gone: clothes, books, comics, CDs, everything. He even took the couch and the pool table." He chuckles, the sound bitter.

"Huh, he left me the television. Maybe he figured you could afford a new one," Annabella offers.

He looks at her sideways, cocking an eyebrow. "I could afford thousands of both but that's not the point."

"I know."

The two exchange a look, neither of them willing to continue the train of thought. The pause extends into a relative silence that lasts until the match is over.

* * *

><p>"How the hell did they get him to agree to that?" Annabella asks, stunned, as the pay-per-view comes to an end. The sight of Phil lying motionless on the top of the Hell in a Cell cage is one she doesn't think she'll ever be able to forget. Neither is the mental image of Brad Maddox low-blowing him.<p>

John merely shakes his head. "Because Phil will do anything for Heyman, and Heyman wants to bring up some of the guys from developmental."

"What? Who?"

"Wait, you didn't know?" the older man asks, brow furrowed.

"Apparently not and, trust me, Stephanie is going to get an earful about that. In the meantime though, spill," Annabella huffs, folding her arms across her chest.

"Good, Lopez and Anoa'i are being brought up at Survivor Series."

"Reigns, Ambrose and Rollins, right?" she asks, puzzled. "Why? I mean, don't get me wrong, they deserve it, but is Anoa'i ready for television?"

"Because Anoa'i is a legacy, Lopez is the NXT champion and Good is halfway out the door," John reasons.

It doesn't escape Annabella's notice that John avoided one half of her question, but she lets it go for the time being. "I love Vince's reasons for bringing legitimate talent into the spotlight," she responds instead.

"'Legitimate'?" John parrots, raising an eyebrow. "Everyone employed in this business is talented."

Annabella levels him with a disbelieving look. "Are we going to go into this again?"

"You know what? No. No, tonight's gone pretty well and the last thing we need to do is start arguing."

"Good choice, boy scout. Very diplomatic." She notices a backstage technician walking over to them. He murmurs something to John that causes the older man's face to drop.

"Phil's injured pretty badly," he explains once the technician leaves. "They've asked me to help take him to the doctors' office when they can get him backstage. I don't know how well it's going to go down, but I suppose I have to try." An awkward silence falls over the pair for a moment. "I should -"

"Yeah, go. I'll see you tomorrow night." Annabella shakes off the awkwardness with a small smile.

"I'll let you know how it goes, if you don't hear him screaming at me in the next fifteen minutes." Annabella knows John well enough to see that the smile he's supporting is completely fake.

"Sure. Good luck."

* * *

><p>It doesn't take Annabella longer to figure out how to find the locker room, intent on finding Stephen and Randy, who she hadn't seen in hours. "Knock, knock, boys!" she sings loudly as the door swings open, immediately being hit with a strange waft of deodorant and stale sweat.<p>

The person who notices her first is Cody. He looks up with a grin, fingers pausing their work of fastening the zipper of his jeans. "You know this is the _men's_ locker room, right, Anna?" he asks.

She laughs, the door banging shut behind her. "Could've fooled me with the length of the dicks I can see right now," she teases, leaning up to peck the older man on the cheek.

"Ouch, Anna, that hurt." Cody pats his bare chest, over his heart. "Right here."

"The truth hurts. Where's Randy?" She salutes when he jerks a thumb over his shoulder. "Thanks, sugar. Hey, come out with me for a drink tomorrow? Brandi's welcome to come, too."

A faint hue of pink spreads over his cheeks, making Annabella smirk. "Sure thing. Talk at Smackdown?"

"Yup, Catch you later!"

"Bye!" Cody gives her a quick hug.

Annabella heads towards the direction Cody directed, absentmindedly dodging various clothing items, cans of deodorant and the occasional shirt. She waves at the men who recognise her enough to say hello. Turning the corner, she spots her target, Randy's occupying the locker farthest from the entrance, tucked into the corner between the locker room and the entrance to the showers. Stephen is sitting on the bench, rummaging through the adjacent locker. "Oh, ho, _Randal_!"

Randy makes a thoughtful noise after looking up to find the caller of his name. "I'm surprised it took you this long to come find me."

"Yeah, where the hell have you been?" Annabella asks, pouting playfully.

"Before his match, I was talking to Phil. Stayed in here to avoid the real world for a while."

Randy doesn't need to say anything else; Annabella knows exactly why he hasn't been backstage. "Phil hates you, though," she says instead, wincing slightly at the raised eyebrow the tattooed man gives her.

"Apparently his guilty conscience trumps that."

"Huh, who'd've thought?"

"You know he's back with Amy," Randy says quietly as he leans over to empty his duffle bag.

"Honestly, I expected nothing less from him," the brunette huffs. She folds her arms over her chest, sinking onto the bench beside Stephen a little harder than necessary. "Man has no concept of self-preservation."

The brunette misses the look between the two men either side of her. "You realise he's not coming back?"

She levels Randy with a look that puts his infamous glares to shame. "Well, we'll see about that, won't we?" Somewhere in her mind she knows that her rebelliousness is more about proving Randy wrong than it is belief that things will actually sort themselves out.

From the sigh Randy gives, he knows that too. "Anna, this isn't healthy. You need to move on. John needs to move on. Honestly, did you really think that it could've worked? Relationships aren't supposed to have more than two people involved. You got a decent two years out of it, maybe you should take that and leave while you still can."

"Are you in any position to be giving me relationship advice right now?" Some part of Annabella knows the words were a mistake as soon as they leave her lips but her anger triumphs over the instant urge to grovel.

The tattooed man only shakes his head. "We're going to do this?"

"No, we're not going to do shit. You took that option off the table when you filed for divorce and didn't tell me!" _There you go. If you gonna dig a grave, may as well make it an impressive one_, a snark voice whispers in her head.

"Honestly, I didn't think it was any of your business."

"You know what? Maybe it wasn't but I'm your _friend_, Randy. So, yeah, colour me pissed because you didn't think to tell your friend that you were getting a fucking divorce."

"Tell me, has Sam been at the end of your self-righteous indignation?" Randy snaps, standing up.

"Oh, she's getting it as soon as I get back to the hotel, trust me. So you can climb down off that high horse right now, Orton."

"For the record, it wasn't me who filed."

"Maybe not, but I'll bet it's your inability to keep it in your pants that got the ball rolling."

Randy scoffs, but doesn't respond. After slinging his duffle bag over his shoulder, he leaves the locker room without another word. Annabella sighs deeply, feeling her anger fade into sadness. She hadn't meant to blow up at him.

"That was out o' line, lass." Stephen reprimands as soon as the nearby superstars return to their business. "I know 's not somethin' ya wa't ta hear, bu' Randy 'as a point."

"So I should give up on the man that was almost singlehandedly responsible for my happiness over the past two years?" Annabella asks.

"I think the only person who really knows what ya need ta do is you."

The younger woman sighs. "_Stephen._"

"Yer really want ta know wha' I think?"

"That's why I asked, cabrón."

Stephen bumps the woman with his shoulder lightly at the insult. "I think yer should give up on 'im. We both know Phil has a 'istory o' leaving when times get tough and I don't think a relationship will work if it's based on a foundation like tha', and this time, he seems pretty adamant. Ya know how stubborn the son of a bitch is. I'm not sayin' that yer can't mourn or be upset. I jus' think this is fo' the best."

Annabella takes a breath, mulling over her friend's statement. She vaguely notices that the locker room is rapidly emptying. "What if I can't?"

The Irishman feels his heart break when he sees the beginning of tears clouding her eyes. "Ya can," he reassures softly, bringing her head to rest on his shoulder.

"I'm not so sure."

"Listen ta me, Anna. Yer a smart, beautiful woman. Ya kick arse and break hearts coast ta coast. It hurts now but ya can do it. Ya'll bounce back. You always do."

She smiles lightly through tears, knowing that Stephen can't see it. It only takes her a moment to straighten herself up, mentally making a deal with herself to hold it together until she gets back to her hotel room. Standing, she stretches her arms above her head. "Wanna grab dinner on the way back?"

Stephen follows her lead and allows the subject to drop. "So long as it's on you."


End file.
